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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28788342">She Bear</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/branloaf/pseuds/branloaf'>branloaf</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>16th Century CE RPF, The King's Curse - Philippa Gregory, The Spanish Princess (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Mentions of Pregnancy, POV Third Person, finally articulating our little headcanon!, teehee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:06:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,326</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28788342</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/branloaf/pseuds/branloaf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Forced to forget about her family and show submission to the new Tudor King, Margaret Pole rebels in her own way when she finally has her own daughter.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Margaret Pole Countess of Salisbury/Richard Pole (1462-1505)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>She Bear</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Plantagenet/gifts">Lady_Plantagenet</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>1504.<br/>Stourton House, Staffordshire.</b>
  </p>
</div>"I feel a fool for not having a confinement this time. It is not proper." Margaret Pole, removing the linen cap confining her hair, sits down on the bed she shares with her husband. Richard Pole, said husband, meanwhile focuses on setting the room for sleep, closing the windows to protect from ill vapours despite the heat, and ensuring the few candles lit will last until they wake.<p>"We cannot afford it, Margaret. The Holy Virgin did not have a lying in before she delivered our Lord."</p><p>"To think the King's own kin is not worthy of a sufficient wage to support his family. I pray I can produce enough milk, for I fear we cannot afford a wet nurse this time." </p><p>Richard sighs at his wife's words against the Tudor king. While both are excited to welcome a new child into their lives, there has been a clear difference between this pregnancy and the ones before it. The last time Margaret delivered a child - little Geoffrey, such a sweet boy - Prince Arthur was alive, and their futures looked bright. Now the future could not be more uncertain. Even before, Margaret had reason to believe she would be safe, be it through her uncles, her cousins, or now her husband. But with Richard's favoured position of Chamberlain to the Prince of Wales now extant, and the rising taxes the new Tudor monarchy continues to implement, not even Margaret's family can help her to feel secure. One bad harvest or one bad plague sweeping through Staffordshire could change everything for them from modest and comfortable to poor and in rags overnight. </p><p>For now however, Margaret tries to suppress her fears, instead focusing on the child due any day now. Under other circumstances, she would have entered her confinement a week or two ago, expecting her new child by the end of the month. Instead, with limited resources in their home, and without the funds for extra servants, Margaret, while trying to confine herself to her bedchamber as much as possible, must still share a bed with her husband.</p><p>Richard throws back the light bed coverings on his side of the bed and gets comfortable, his hand soon after resting on Margaret's back, who still sits on the edge of the bed. She looks down at her hands, twisting the ring on her pinky finger, the red jewel appearing even darker than normal in the dim candlelight. The only thing she owns of her mother's that she can put on display with no fear, the tiny ring fits snugly on her finger, the swelling of her fingers from pregnancy leaving her no option other than to wear it on her smallest finger.</p><p>"Come to bed, Margaret."</p><p>Richard's words take her away from her brief thoughts of her mother and back to her husband. As if remembering her fatigue, a heaviness suddenly overcomes her consciousness, making her want to crawl into bed and sleep. Richard's words are a good idea. She turns and slips under the sheets, Richard kissing her forehead before he rolls onto his side, intent on also drifting off.</p><p>Margaret wakes hours later to discomfort in her abdomen. Finding the space beside her empty, she quickly spots Richard sitting on a chair by the window, a candle beside him providing just enough illumination for him to read. </p><p>"How long have you been awake?" The lack of sounds of morning activity outside and the candles still providing the only light implies to Margaret that Richard has risen to practice his Latin, soon to return to bed for his second sleep. The grogginess in Margaret's mind however, leaves her uncertain of her assumption until he answers her.</p><p>"A while. I did not want to wake you. The child takes so much of your energy, you should rest." </p><p>Ignoring his words, she stands, grateful to stretch out her legs. "How is your Latin going? You do not speak of it much." </p><p>He chuckled humbly, closing the book and setting it aside. "I am no scholar. Our boys are certainly far better at it than I. Arthur says he wants to show you how he has improved." </p><p>Margaret smiles. "I'm sure you can learn." The only one in their family not tutored in Latin, even despite his sex, Richard is determined to learn the tongue, taking lessons alongside his two eldest sons, the three delighting in the time spent learning together. </p><p>The discomfort Margaret woke to turns to a pain, and she doesn't hear Richard's modest response to her encouragement. Richard stands and rushes towards her.</p><p>"Is it time? Shall I get the midwife?" </p><p>Margaret shakes her head, letting Richard help her sit back down. The midwife lives in the nearby town and she doesn't want to bother her yet. </p><p>"There is nothing she can do right now." The pain subsiding, she smiles at Richard's concerned face. "Trust me, Richard. I have done this before." </p><p>Still not looking convinced, Richard glances around the room awkwardly. "Then I will send your ladies to you and leave you to… to your work. I will sleep elsewhere." </p><p>There is a part of Margaret that wants her husband to stay with her, but knowing full well that the birthing chamber is no place for a man, she nods, not arguing with him and watching him leave. </p><p>Her two ladies come and begin to prepare for the birth despite Margaret's objections. Feeling an expert, she is annoyed at the fuss until she is sternly reminded that childbirth is always a dangerous matter. Allowing them to cover her belly with oils and her girdle to aid the birth, Margaret then rolls on her side and tries to get some more sleep.</p><p>The midwife is summoned at dawn, Margaret no longer able to tolerate the pains. The stout middle aged woman is not bothered by the early wake up call, cheerfully setting up and ensuring everything is going well. Soon enough, the pain too strong and frequent for her to even mumble prayers through gritted teeth, Margaret begins to push, the eventual cries filling the room as the child enters the world, overwhelming Margaret with relief and joy. </p><p>"'Tis a girl, my lady." The midwife says, rubbing down the infant, her pink skin becoming even more so. After four sons, the knowledge that she has finally given birth to a daughter brings Margaret to tears, and she takes the baby eagerly. </p><p>As the women around her clean, Margaret brings the child to her breast, trying to get her to feed. With the midwife's help, the newborn begins to suckle, and Margaret watches her adoringly. </p><p>A few hours later, the baby now sleeping and Margaret resting comfortably, Richard enters the bedchamber. Already hearing news of his new daughter, he approaches his wife.</p><p>"Praise God you are well. And that He has blessed us with a healthy daughter." He plants a kiss on Margaret's forehead and turns to the wooden cradle beside the bed, picking up the sleeping baby, now wrapped up in swaddling.</p><p>After a moment of thought, he looks up. "What shall we name her? Perhaps Elizabeth, for the Queen? God rest her soul. Or Margaret. The King's Mother could be Godmother."</p><p>Margaret mulls it over. This being her only daughter, she feels a great responsibility to give her a special name. With four sons already in the nursery, she had almost given up on having a girl, so much so that she never even considered names for one.</p><p>"I would not name a child for myself, no matter if we say it be for another."</p><p>"So, Elizabeth?" </p><p>Analytically, the name makes sense. Elizabeth was the name of the late Queen and her mother. And, on a more personal level, it is a variant of Isabel, Margaret's mother's name. But there is something about the name that just doesn't feel right to Margaret.</p><p>"No." Knowing that Richard is about to throw out a few more suggestions, expecting this to be as simple as naming their older sons, Margaret stops him.</p><p>"Give me time to think of a name, would you please? She is our only daughter, I do not want to smother her with a name that will do nothing but show our loyalty to the Tudors. We have already done so with Henry and Arthur."</p><p>Richard looks down at the bundle in his arms. "Very well. But I will be arranging her christening as soon as possible, so I urge you to hurry." </p><p>The following afternoon, Margaret sits by the window of her chamber, the still unnamed infant in her arms. A faint knock at the door captures her attention, and she allows the guest entrance. Her son Arthur, ten years old, enters, glancing around the room nervously. </p><p>"Arthur, my sweet boy." Margaret says, her face brightening. "Have you come to show me how your Latin has improved?" The boys had come to see their mother and new sister that morning, and while there, Arthur asked if he may visit later to demonstrate his Latin. </p><p>He nods his head, "yes, Mother." </p><p>Shifting in her seat, Margaret nods, "go ahead." Arthur begins reciting a story that he has clearly written himself. Finding the usual methods of study too boring, Arthur's tutor decided to have the boy create stories in Latin that would demonstrate his skills in the same way. The last time he showed his mother, he recited the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden in his own words, another time he spoke of St George. This time, the tutor allowed him to make his own story, instead of rewriting those he has been raised on. Speaking slowly and clearly, he tells a story of a lady who is attacked by a bear but then rescued by a brave knight, arriving in time to defeat the bear and save the maiden. Margaret is amused with her son's creativity, but it does not dampen how impressed she is with how he has progressed. Richard was most certainly right when he joked that his sons had better Latin skills than he did.</p><p>The baby yawns and Margaret glances down at her, still listening to Arthur's story. Stroking the infant's cheek with her thumb, her mother's ring catches her eye as she moves her hand, the ruby shining in the light coming through the window. </p><p>Looking back to her son, he is finishing his story, concluding that the knight married the lady. Margaret smiles.</p><p>"That was excellent, Arthur. Your Latin is coming along so nicely, I am very proud." Arthur beams, basking in his mother's pride. </p><p>"Thank you, Lady Mother. I will continue to work hard." The boy leaves soon after, leaving Margaret alone once again, her only company her daughter in her arms.</p><p>Her eyes catching on the ring again, her mind wanders, thinking back on Arthur's fairy tale. Ursus… She turns her wrist, focused on the ring. If her memory is correct, the bear was the symbol of her mother's family, the Nevilles. Her mind runs faster than she can keep up. Mother. Neville. Bear. Ursus. Ursula. </p><p>The baby cooes, as if sensing her mother's realisation. Ursula. A name in honour of her grandmother and the noble family she came from, but one that could be disguised as being for the Saint. </p><p>The Saint. Drawing back on her knowledge of the Catholic Saints, she recalls the story of Saint Ursula. A princess sent off to marry, deciding to go on pilgrimage before her wedding, only for her and her companions to be massacred by the Huns. As she delves deep into what she has learned of her, another realisation dawns upon her, solidifying her naming decision. Saint Ursula's feast day is 21 October; the same day as Margaret's father's birth.</p><p>The baby in her arms looks at her intently, her eyes focused on her mother's. Her mind made up, Margaret rises, hurrying out of the room with the baby still in her arms, too impatient to wait to tell her husband.</p><p>"Richard! Husband!" </p><p>Richard runs towards her with panic, terrified something awful has happened. Once he notices the excitement on Margaret's face, he calms slightly.</p><p>"Margaret? What are you doing? You have not been churched, you should not be out of the bedchamber." </p><p>"I know what we will name our daughter," Margaret announces. "Ursula." </p><p>Richard frowns. "Then she could not be named for her Godmother."</p><p>"No matter. She will be named Ursula." Her voice is firm. Usually pushing aside her stubbornness to keep herself safe in the uncertain times she grew up in, it now comes out in full force. This child will be named for her grandparents, the grandparents that Margaret has been forced to forget about, just as she has had to forget about her brother. </p><p>"If you feel so strongly about this, I will not object." Richard says after mulling it over. "Saint Ursula is not often a namesake; it is a rather unique decision, but it is your decision, nonetheless. I have named our sons, you shall name our daughters." </p><p>Margaret smiles down at her daughter, now assigned a name - she only has to wait until it is properly given to her at her christening. </p><p>"Now please return to our bedchamber, Margaret." Richard orders. Margaret obliges, setting down Ursula in the cradle and sitting on the bed, watching her.</p><p>"My Ursula. God has sent you to me so my parents can live on, and I will be sure to do his work. You will know your grandparents, and your great ancestry. I do not want you to fear who you are, as I have had to. One day, you will become one of the highest ladies in the kingdom. The King will not be able to resist the noble blood in your veins, and he will find a most excellent match for you. You shall be happy and safe. I promise this to you, my daughter."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This wasn't entirely historically accurate, but this was more about Ursula's name instead of the accuracy of their financial status and such at the time.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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